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They don't even take their clothes off, not really. They're still in their uniforms, short pleated skirts and sweater tops with the letters and colors of their respective schools brightly displayed. They are supposed to be in competition, but for now, none of that matters.
Right now, they could be anyone to each other.
And they are. Its not a coincidence that one is a blonde, one is a brunette. They haven't look each other directly in the face, not since they first sighted each other and saw the sexual gleam in each other's eyes. All they see is the hair color surrounding the heart-shaped teenage face.
"Mmmm." Their lips separate with a soft liquid sound as Missy Pantone pulls away from the other girl. She is stroking the shorter girl's hair with a sardonic smile. Her voice is husky. "I'm glad to know I found the only other girl here who's dyke-a-delic."
The blond girl breaks away from her with a startled and irritated intake of air. "I'm not a dyke," she exerts. "I'm just...lonely."
Missy shrugs. "Same thing." The blond girl sits down on a lawn chair, hugging her green-sweatered chest, and Missy sits next to her. "Look, I didn't mean to make you stop. I'm a little new at this myself. But I'm just saying, you're making out with a girl you just met in a dark corner outside a hotel. You might as well be honest with yourself."
The girl-Angela, Missy thinks is her name-doesn't look much more comforted by that idea. Her huge blue eyes beg for something else. Missy continues, "Look, if it makes you feel better, this can be an experiment. Every girl does something like this in her teenage years. Its...average. Normal. Ordinary."
Angela just hugs herself harder and glares. Not at Missy, just at everything in general. "I don't think there's anything worse than being ordinary. We're special."
Missy grins, stroking the other girl's soft blond hair. "You're special, all right. You could be a model!" she says in a mock-excited voice. Earlier, one of the coaches had said that to Angela, and she'd just sort of preened and strutted. And it works like a charm this time, too: Angela smiles and shoves her chair a little closer to Missy's.
"So, what school are you from?"
"The fuck?" Missy laughs, surprised. Its such a random, normal question in the midst of this weird little tryst. "The few, the proud, the Toros."
Angela smiles. "Lockwell High, the Dancing Spartanettes."
Missy rolls her eyes. "I know. 'Jazz hands!' " she mocks, giving a little imitation of the stupid hat-thing that the Spartanettes were doing earlier.
Angela stiffens, and her little face immediately works itself into a scowl. Which is entirely cute, and entirely amusing, and so much like the determined look on Tor's face that it makes Missy's heart hurt. "You bitch! We worked really hard on that routine, and we hired a choreographer and everything? You're just, like, jealous, cause you know we're gonna win this stupid thing." She rolls her eyes dramatically and takes out a cigarette. "Honestly, some stupid chick from fucking LA puts on a short skirt and she thinks she's a fucking cheerleader." Now with a perfectly controlled look on her face, she turns to face Missy, brushing off the ash on the end of her cigarette. "Well, go ahead and delude yourself. Just don't take out your insecurities on me."
For a second Missy just sits with a shocked look on her face, swollen mouth open in an 'o' shape. Then she grins, working the cigarette gently from between Angela's fingers and bringing it to her own mouth. Taking a deep breath from it. "You're a strange little chick, you know that? Yeah, we hired a choreographer the first time around, too." Smoke drifts across her dark face as she shakes her head, laughing softly. "It was Tor's boyfriend's idea. Moron."
Angela quietly takes her cigarette back, letting her knuckles brush Missy's hand for a second. "Yeah well. I know we're not going to win, anyway. I don't even know why I'm here." She sounds so sad, so fragile for second that Missy wants to hug her, but she knows that it would be unwelcome. It would add to much baggage to their already over-extended relationship. It was supposed to be a fuck and run.
Angela's speaking again, but Missy missed the first half of it, wrapped up in her ruminations. So what she hears is "-I mean, without Jane here we're fucked anyway? So us being here is, like, so pointless. Ever since she took off with that psycho, the Spartenettes have been so shitty." Her voice quiets again at the last part, so different from her usually bouncy teenage voice. Now she sounds like there's some part of her that's gone, and Missy more than suspects that its this Jane girl.
She takes the cigarette back, puffing on it. She doesn't usually smoke, but she figures that she might as well be social if she plans on getting this girl into bed. Which she still does. "Dumped for a guy? Yeah, I know the feeling." Thinking of Tor, the happy look she gets on her face when she says Cliff's name. Her chest instantly tightens, and all she wants to do is grab the girl across from her; kiss her til her mouth bleeds.
"I wasn't dumped," Angela says indignantly. "It wasn't like that."
Missy chuckles. "Its always like that, sweetie."
When Angela speaks again, Missy almost doesn't hear her. She's bent over in her chair like her stomach hurts. "It doesn't matter. She hated me anyway."
"How come?" Missy stares at the blond curls in front of her. She could almost be Tor. If not for the green outfit, if not for the husky smoker's voice, if not for the slightly more mature figure. And Angela also has a shattered aspect that Torrance lacks, a hard shell around her that cracked at some point. Angela is cynical, Missy can tell already. Angela reminds her of the Barbies she had as a child, cracked bodies with no arms and legs, blond hair dirtied and cut off.
"I tried to fuck her dad." Angela looks up, her blue eyes coldly meeting Missy's brown ones. "On the night that he was murdered. He told me I was beautiful..." She's almost crying now, and Missy can't help but untwist her body from where it is huddled in the chair and bring it over to hers. She sits Angela on her lap and strokes her hair.
Angela leans into her with a soft sigh that is drowned in Missy's neck. "I haven't done this in awhile. Not since Mr. Burnham."
Shifting the girl onto a more comfortable place on her thighs, Missy hugs her a little tighter, cuddling the soft body in her arms. "Jane's dad?" Angela nods slightly, and Missy asks, "Why me?"
Shrug. "I dunno." Angela sounds honestly wondering at the question. "Why me? Besides the obvious, I mean."
Missy smiles, only a little bitterly. "There's a girl in that room right now," pointing to a lit window of the hotel they are in the shadow of, "and I love her. And she's in love with my brother."
"She could be a dyke in denial, you know. Going after the male version of you, in like, this twisted attempt to deny her attraction to you?" Angela sounds excited, like it's a story in some romance novel. Or better: on Sally Jesse Raphael. But it isn't. It's Missy's life.
So now Missy's pissed, but she has a lapful of warm, pretty girl, so she'd rather not show it. Unfortunately, her tongue gets away with her. "A dyke in denial? Isn't that what you are?"
Angela sits up instantly, grabbing her cigarette back. After a mouthful of grey smoke, she spits, "No."
Missy shrugs. Well, she's in this now, might as well stay in. "What color hair did Jane have?"
"Bla-" Angela sees where Missy's going with this and scowls. "Fuck off. I suppose that Torrance is a brunette? Or do you routinely go after blondes as a part of some other fetish?"
Smirking, Missy stretches in her seat, so Angela has to hold onto her tightly to avoid being dumped on the ground. "Hey, I admit to my dyke-a-delic tendencies. I'm in love with Tor, and I can't have her, so I get you instead."
"Cunt." Angela says the word, but its almost lifeless. She's back inside herself again, pink candy coating hardened around her, a sugar shell. She flicks her cigarette. "It doesn't matter. I'm just here to waste some time anyway. And you know that you want me. I know that you want me. That's what matters."
Missy has no answer for that, so instead she takes the cigarette from Angela's hand, looks at it, and throws it away. The other girl wiggles a little, as if in protest, on her lap, then just settles back against Missy, lighting another cigarette. They look at the reflection of the lights in the hotel pool, and they sit, and they don't move. The only sound is the sound of the Angela exhaling, causing a halo of smoke to form around her head. She inhales. Exhales. Inhales.
